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All’s Fair In Love and Pizza

Lane Hayes

ChapterOne

Mateo

Boardwalk Pizza’s lunchtime rush was the usual medley of starry-eyed tourists, loyal locals, and a smattering of students and faculty from the nearby college. Like now.

A family of five sporting sweatshirts advertising the roller coaster at the pier studied the menu on the wall behind the register while the old man with a newspaper folded under his arm and an unlit pipe in hand chatted with the professor of humanities. A gaggle of female students huddled at the end of the line, gazes locked on their cellular devices.

The family was currently vacillating between the extra-large meat lover’s pizza and my cousin Sal’s special with double pepperoni. They couldn’t decide which sounded better, which meant they’d probably drag me into the decision-making process. I’d happily push the meat lover’s, but I was feeling a little stabby that I was running the register at all. I was supposed to be in the office, finalizing tomorrow’s grocery list. This was Giovanni’s job.

Where the hell was he?

“Everything just looks so good. What would you suggest?” the middle-aged mom asked, fluttering mega lashes at me.

See, I told you so.

“The meat lover’s. Hands down, my favorite.” I flashed a flirty smile, ignoring Mr. Smith’s eye roll. The old geezer got testy when forced to wait too long for his daily slice of ’za and a side salad…hold the onions.

“Sold!” The woman twittered. Thankfully she and the rest of her family knew what they wanted to drink.

I rang her card and pushed a plastic marker across the battered wood counter. “Thank you. Here’s your number. Your pizza should be out within ten minutes or less.”

Mr. Smith toddled forward, his signature deadpan expression in place. He stuffed his newspaper into the front pocket of his tweed coat and tapped his pipe on his thumb. “I’ll have the usual.”

“You got it.” I narrowed my eyes mischievously. “You sure you don’t want to try Sal’s special?”

“The last time I tried Sal’s special, I had heartburn for three days. No, I’ll stick to the usual.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change.”

Our prices had gone up a couple of times since the older man had last bothered checking—however, no one corrected him. Mr. Smith had been a regular for forty or so years, which meant that other than on my days off and during my short stint after college playing pro football, I’d seen this man more often than I saw some family members. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he’d played poker with my grandpa and had coached Little League with my uncle once upon a time, so yeah…I wasn’t about to let him know he owed me an extra five bucks on the daily.

“Thanks, Mr. S.” I held my hand up for a fist bump, chuckling when he raised his brow and shuffled off.

The college girls were next. No problem. I locked and loaded my most charming smile just as Vanni rushed in, tying a marinara-stained apron around his slim waist.

“Sorry about that. I had some snoopin’ to do. You’re not gonna believe who’s moving in next door, Cuz.” Vanni bumped my elbow and grinned like a fool at the pretty girls waiting at the counter.

My cousin was a little scatterbrained. However, he was great with customers. I let him take over, hanging the new orders on the line for Sal and Jimmy in the kitchen. I should have ducked out and made a beeline for the office, but I poured drinks and made myself useful instead. And yeah, I was curious.

“Who?” I asked, arranging a tray of drinks.

Vanni closed the register, waiting for the counter area to clear before he replied, “A football buddy of yours.”

“Really? From Haverton?”

“Yeah, a big guy—a linebacker, I think. Rob something or other? He was standing outside with an inspector, talking about permits. I said hello, all friendly like. Introduced myself. He says, ‘Nice to meet ya. I’m opening a bagel shop.’ ”

“Rob? I don’t know who—oh, Rob Vilmer?”

Vanni snapped his fingers. “That’s the guy. Rob’s makin’ bagels. Not regular bagels, either. Savory ones. Whatever the fuck that means. Heya, Mrs. Sanders. What can we get started for you today?”

Rob Vilmer.Huh.Talk about a blast from the past.

I delivered the drinks to table fourteen, pausing to inquire about their meals. How was the pepperoni today? Do you need any parmesan? That kind of thing. I made my rounds, strategically stopping near the entrance with the tray tucked under my arm to open the door for a group of students, then sneaked outside to peek at the flurry of action at the neighboring store.

The former owners had operated a candy emporium for decades. You know, the kind with big barrels of saltwater taffy and walls filled with classic treats—Pop Rocks, Abba-Zabas, and Sugar Babies. It had been a staple of my childhood, and my cousins and I had been sad to see it go. The Corcorans had given us first right of refusal three years ago, and though I’d appreciated the gesture, we hadn’t been in a position to buy them out. My dad had just passed away, and keeping the pizza parlor afloat with my cousins had seemed daunting as fuck at the time.